


A Misconstruction

by Captain_Jowl



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Bipolar Disorder, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Insecurity, Jealousy, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Season/Series 10
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:13:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28319535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Jowl/pseuds/Captain_Jowl
Summary: (Prompt: Jealous Ian and possessive sex. No mpreg or bottom Ian.)After his meds have to be adjusted, Ian has troubles getting it up again. Insecurity leads to jealousy. And jealousy leads to reclaiming his husband in the best way he knows.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 37
Kudos: 419





	A Misconstruction

**Author's Note:**

> So, that is supposed to be a Christmas gift exchange fic for Gallavich Gift Giving Game 2020 :D I'm a tiny bit late but a late present is better than none, right?  
> (Am I actually late if it's still Christmas?..I'm honestly not sure :D) 
> 
> Jealousy is not my favorite trope but I enjoyed this challenge ^^ Merry Christmas ;) 
> 
> P. S. Thanks for editing and title help, Shaz 💗

“I don’t think it’s happening today, Mick,” Ian tells to the moving lump under the comforter. 

After a bit of shuffling, his husband emerges from where he was settled between his legs, catching his breath. He’s flushed from trying to bring Ian’s limp dick to life.

Ian puts the palms of his hands over his face to avoid looking at Mickey. 

“It’s okay, man,” he hears him say while sniffing and shuffling around on the bed. 

Ian knows, he _knows_ it’s okay; however there aren’t many things that are less fucking humiliating than being unable to get it up for your husband when you’re only twenty four. 

It happened two months into their marriage. The whole stress of the last several months caught up with him: the release from prison, the chaos that is the Gallaghers’ house, fucking Paula, the wedding, his fucked up routines and the looming shadow of Terry. 

Liam was the one to ring the alarm when he found Ian cooking at two am three nights in a row as the boy went downstairs to get himself a glass of water. It was the usual deal afterwards. Ian popped his emergency lithium and let Mickey take him to the doctor the day after that. His meds were adjusted and he crashed, acting like a zombie for the past week and a half.

He is feeling better now. He is _feeling_ , which is already progress. He eats, watches TV with Liam and spends time reading Fiona’s old book between naps while everybody goes about their day. Mickey is drastically less annoying these days, going to bed earlier to lay with him in the evenings and bitch to him about his mall job. 

Ian misses being physical with each other. He knows Mickey does too. They still kiss and hold each other at night; however, it’s not the same as having sex. Not only is it an essential part of their relationship but they were still riding the honeymoon high when Ian crashed. They didn’t get enough, so as soon as Ian felt a little bit better they decided to try doing _something_. Mickey promised to do all the work but even his expert knowledge of Ian’s body did not help, leaving Ian to lie in bed, frustrated, watching his husband wipe his mouth on the back of his hand with a defeated sigh. 

There is an erection in Mickey’s boxers, and Ian thinks that he can at least handle that. Even though he couldn’t possibly master even half the energy required to suck Mickey off, he can manage a lazy handjob. Sitting up, he reaches for his husband but Mickey moves away, adjusting himself in his boxers.

“Don’t worry about it, man,” he says, crawling off the bed and smacking a kiss on Ian’s temple. “Got stuff to do anyway, gotta go.”

All Ian can do is watch helplessly as Mickey tugs the jeans over his morning wood and goes to brush his teeth, pretending that everything is okay.

Ian is fucking tired. He’s been tired for a long time and it doesn’t seem to get better. He needs to get back to work soon. He only got two weeks off, not that he could lie around for longer anyway – they need his paycheck. He has no choice but to get up and push himself.

He goes for a short walk after breakfast, breathing fresh air for the first time in twelve days. That’s enough of an achievement in his state, it gives him a tiny energy boost, so when Mickey comes home from work that evening, they try again. 

It doesn’t happen that evening.

It doesn’t happen the next day. And the day after that, it doesn’t happen either.

His stupid dick is still not hard when he wakes up to the coldness of an empty bed and the sound of the running shower two days later. It’s Saturday and Mickey does not have a reason to be out of bed that early. Ian is slightly annoyed until he sees the time and realizes that it isn’t his husband who is up too early, it’s him who is lying in bed well after noon.

If Mickey is up already, he’ll try to keep up.

Ian sits up on the edge of their bed, waits for his head to stop spinning and then drags his feet to the bathroom to join Mickey in their late morning rituals. 

The water pressure in the house is shit but it still seems to draw out his sounds, because when he closes the bathroom door and peeks behind the shower curtain, Mickey doesn’t seem to hear him. His eyes are closed and his hand is flying over his hard cock. He bites on his lip to contain his pants.

Not expecting to see his husband silently jerking off in the shower, Ian takes a sharp inhale. That prompts Mickey to open his eyes and jump almost a whole foot in the air.

“FUCK!” he yells, his feet slipping on the wet floor. He catches himself on the wall and looks at Ian wide-eyed, his other hand splayed over his heart. “What the fuck, man?”

“You’re asking me?” Ian says, bitterness filling his chest. He doesn’t mind Mickey jerking off anytime and anywhere he wants, however this particular situation is different, because Mickey was hiding. 

“Look, I’m not-“ Mickey starts but then shakes his head with disappointment. “Whatever.” 

He rinses the soap off his hands while Ian watches him. His cheeks are pink, not just from the steamy shower. He looks great like that, hair wet and drops of water on flushed skin. If he could, Ian would be all over him, inside him. He wants him, even though his body doesn’t respond.

“You need some help with it?” Ian tries to sound flirtatious, nodding towards Mickey’s dick, still hard and reddened.

“Nah, man,” says Mickey. He steps out of the shower and ties a towel around his waist, side-stepping Ian. “It’s okay.” 

_It’s not, it’s not okay_ , Ian wants to yell as Mickey leaves the room. Nothing is fucking okay about his husband having to sneak out of their bed to jerk it in the shower. 

Ian feels rejected and a little bit stupid. He still has hands, he still has his mouth. He could at least dirty-talk him until he finishes. Does Mickey not want him like that anymore? 

Thinking this, Ian turns to look in the mirror. There are dark circles under his eyes and his skin is a greyish-pale. His hair is a mess and the overgrown stubble on his chin doesn’t look good.

Of fucking course Mickey doesn’t want him. What young gay man wants a zombie-looking guy with a limp dick who can barely master enough energy to get out of bed, leave alone being able to properly fuck his own husband?

Feeling vulnerable and insecure, Ian goes back to bed and stays there until dinner.

***

Tuesday is a good day. The foggy feeling in his head has been shredding away, and getting out of bed doesn’t seem like an impossible task anymore. He has breakfast with his family and even walks Franny to school. The weather is good, so he buys a couple of hotdogs and spends time outside, soaking up the sunny warmth of the early fall.

Mickey told him that he has a short shift due to them being overstaffed for once, and although that takes away the hours from his paycheck, Ian’s kind of excited about surprising Mickey by meeting him at the mall shortly after lunch. Maybe they’ll get Pinkberry together. He needs some serotonin. 

He gets to the mall’s food court just in time, and there is a smile on his face when his eyes find Mickey sitting at their usual table and looking all cute in his pastel uniform. It takes only a couple of seconds for Ian’s face to fall when he sees that Mickey’s not alone. 

Sitting there, at _their_ table, on _his_ usual chair, next to _his_ husband _,_ is a buff dude, light blue shirt stretched tightly over his chest and straining at the biceps. He has reddish-brown hair and an earring and he is talking animatedly to _his husband_ , who has the audacity to smile and laugh at what this wannabe bodybuilder has to say. 

Mickey has been especially pissy lately but Ian figured that he’s just sexually frustrated – he always gets kind of bitchy when he’s not getting his itch scratched. But here he is, smiley and perfectly fine, laughing at some attractive dude’s jokes. This is how it’s gonna be now? He can’t give Mickey what he wants and there he goes? That slut…

Ian takes a deep breath, trying to calm down his racing thoughts. It’s fucking irrational. He’s never been the jealous one. They both had their moments, but he never saw any of Mickey’s attempts to make him jealous as a real threat. The Byron situation was downright laughable, even though it still stings a little bit. And he trusts Mickey, they’re married now and they’ve been happy and there’s no reason for- 

He almost manages to talk himself down, but then the buff dude puts his hand on Mickey’s shoulder and squeezes it while still talking and Mickey doesn’t shrug him off. Like, he doesn’t even flinch! Instead, he ducks his head and… is he fucking blushing? 

Ian feels like a charging bull, ready to interrupt that disgusting mating ritual, but the guy squeezes his husband’s shoulder one more time and stands up from the table, leaving. Not before sending Mickey a megawatt smile. 

Stomping to the table, Ian practically feels steam coming out of his ears. 

“Gallagher?” Mickey looks surprised when he notices a stone-faced Ian towering over him. “What are you doing here?”

“So I have to get permission to visit _my husband_ at work now?” Ian hisses, emphasizing the word husband, and watches the way Mickey’s face expression morphs from confusion to anger. 

“Okay, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“What the fuck is wrong with _me_?” Ian asks loudly. A couple at the next table turns to look at them and Mickey winces.

“Jesus, will you stop being so fucking dramatic for a second?” he picks up his lunchbox and goes to dump it in the trash.

Ian just stands there, fuming, unable to stop his heart from pounding. He really wants to punch something.

Mickey comes back and looks him up and down with a scowl. 

“What crawled up your ass?” he asks rudely.

“Oh, I bet you wish something would crawl up your ass right now,” Ian taunts him in answer. 

Mickey’s eyebrows fly high on his forehead.

“Okay, you gotta stop saying weird shit, man, you’re acting fucking...” he stops short of finishing the sentence. 

This motherfucker.

“Crazy?” Ian takes a step towards Mickey, staring down at him. “That what you wanted to say? Fucking crazy?” 

Mickey doesn’t answer. Instead, he shoulder checks him and goes for the exit. Ian has no other choice but to follow him.

The ride home is tense. Mickey keeps looking at him, probably trying to decide if he should send him back to the doctor before cheating on him. Or maybe he already has? This is why he was avoiding being intimate with him these last several days? This is what he was thinking about in the shower while jerking off, and that’s why he didn’t want Ian’s help?

By the time they arrive home, Ian has worked himself up into a full-on rage. 

“Did you fuck him?” he blurts out as soon as they close the door to their room.

“ _What?_ ” Mickey stops unbuttoning his khaki shorts and turns to him.

“Don’t play dumb! Who was that guy?” Ian demands. 

“What fucking guy?” Mickey asks, a deep frown settling between his eyebrows.

“The guy you were flirting with at lunch,” he says through gritted teeth. 

“I didn’t fucking- You mean Daniel? The big guy?”

“Yes, _the big guy_ ,” Ian says, punctuating his answer with air quotes. Blood is pumping in Ian’s veins and if Mickey doesn’t stop being an idiot right now, he is going to…

He should’ve punched Daniel in the face when he had a chance.

“He’s my supervisor, you fucking drama queen,” Mickey rolls his eyes dismissively and starts digging through the pile of laundry on their bed.

This information does nothing to soothe the nasty feeling in Ian’s chest. He knew enough “supervisors” who weren’t against hooking up with their subordinates. 

“He must be a real sweet talker to make you blush like that.” 

“What?” Mickey asks again, grabbing a towel from the pile.

“I’m just saying. Looked pretty cozy back there. His jokes must be funny too. He a part-time comedian?” Ian hears his own voice, knows how stupidly passive aggressive he sounds. Still, he can’t do anything to stop himself.

“Jesus Christ,” Mickey mutters, tugging off his work polo and rolling his shoulders. “We were talking about the guy I caught today, he was trying to get away with an expensive-ass watch. Probably thought I was fucking blind, huh? Daniel just congratulated me or whatever. Said… said they could maybe promote me to mall security later…”

Mickey’s back is turned to Ian but he hears the bashful smile in his voice. And that’s good news, really, a rational part of his brain says. 

He watches Mickey take off his shorts, looks at his legs, his thighs. Imagines some other guy putting his hands on his husband’s body. A sharp bolt of anger hits him in the gut, bringing with it an underlay of longing. He should be the one doing it. 

“So you did a good job and that’s why he was touching you?” he says, before he can stop himself again.

Mickey glances at him, annoyed as fuck, shakes his head. 

“I don’t have time for your bullshit. Fuck off and let me take a shower, will ya?” he mutters, trying to walk around Ian to the bathroom. Squaring his shoulders, Ian puts himself between Mickey and the door.

“Did you fuck him?” he asks again. It’s so stupid but the mere thought of that dude touching Mickey, just fucking looking at him… He is never jealous like this, usually he revels in the fact that other guys might find Mickey attractive, loves showing him off. But the frustration and humiliation of the past two weeks resulted in a growing insecurity and a strong need to reclaim Mickey. He _needs_ to know.

Mickey vouchsafes no reply, tries to push Ian out of the way, and the fact that Mickey just fucking ignores him rouses his anger to the boiling point.

Not thinking, he grabs Mickey’s shoulders and slams him into the wall. Mickey grunts from the impact, automatically grasping Ian’s forearms. He opens his mouth, ready to insult him, but Ian is having none of that. He grips Mickey’s jaw in one hand, pulling him so their faces are little more than a breath apart.

“I asked,” he says lowly, punctuating every word. “Did you fuck him?”

Instead of an answer, Mickey glances down and lets out a slightly tremulous breath. Ian realizes that he is pushing Mickey into the wall with his whole body and there is a bulge in his jeans pressing against Mickey’s naked lower stomach. If it weren’t for the fury overcoming him, he would probably be whooping and cheering right now, however it isn’t the most important thing on his mind in this moment.

He waits until Mickey raises his eyes to him and lifts a questioning eyebrow.

“No, I didn’t fucking bang my supervisor,” Mickey says without much bite. He pauses, a challenging smirk blooming on his face, and Ian knows that whatever he’s about to say is going to drive him completely mad. “But,” Mickey starts slowly. “If I think about it, he is kind of hot… I should probably get his number tomorrow.” He puts his tongue behind his cheek and looks at Ian from under his lashes. 

As soon as his words register in Ian’s brain, he feels his blood boiling, rushing through his body, painting his cheeks red and giving him a real fucking rage boner. The feeling leaves him wordless as he looks at Mickey, gripping his jaw harder. There's a part of him that wants to slap him and another that wants to kiss him.

Mickey decides for him as he turns his head to graze his thumb with his teeth, not breaking the eye contact. 

With a gasp, Ian crushes their lips together. They haven't kissed like this for a long time. It’s intense, teeth biting at each other’s lips and tongues fucking into each other’s mouths. Ian moans and grinds into his husband’s body, finally feeling those sparks of pleasure and excitement he’s been chasing for weeks. It’s really hard to be pissed when Mickey squirms against him, half-naked, but Ian still manages to grunt a ragged “slut” between Mickey’s parted lips.

Mickey pulls away to chuckle and arches an eyebrow:

“Yeah? Whatcha gonna do about it?”

It’s such a basic come on, but it works on Ian. In one swift motion, he turns them around and pushes his husband onto the bed, landing on top of him in a clumsy tangle of limbs. Mickey grins at him smugly and Ian bites at his lips again, hard, to get that expression off his face. 

“Fucking dick,” Mickey grunts against him and slides a hand under his t-shirt. Ian bats his hands away and hurriedly grabs at the fabric between his shoulders, pulling the t-shirt over his head. Ever impatient, Mickey starts unbuttoning his jeans, only for Ian to pin his hands down.

“Do you want to fuck him?” he asks, looking Mickey straight in the eyes. 

“Guess who I want to fuck, Sherlock,” Mickey answers and flexes his hips, rubbing his hard on against Ian’s thigh, prompting him to swear and start taking off the rest of his clothes.

“Don’t even think about fucking him,” he barks at him. 

Mickey watches his hands and bites his lips as soon as Ian frees his cock. 

“Gonna give me something else to think about?” he teases and takes off his boxers, eyes fixed on Ian’s proud-standing erection. 

Ian tosses the lube they have standing on the night table on the bed, presses Mickey back into the mattress and licks into his mouth again. Feeling Mickey’s skin all over him, he realizes how touch-starved he’s been. They kiss and hump, and Ian doesn’t fucking understand if he’s horny or pissed anymore. Then he thinks of Mickey sitting there with Daniel, and shit, he’s definitely still angry.

“Hands and knees,” he orders. He wants Mickey shaking and moaning, barely able to remember his own name, all because he, Ian, made him.

“Hell yes,” Mickey scrambles to get on all four and hug a pillow close to his chest.

Ian kicks Mickey’s legs wider apart and pulls at his hips, making Mickey fall onto his elbows.

“Put your ass up,” he says and Mickey arches his back the way he knows Ian likes. Not waiting another second, Ian spreads his ass cheeks with one hand and squirts a generous amount of lube on Mickey’s hole, messing up the sheets in the process.

“Stop wasting, it’s the expensive shit,” Mickey grumbles and turns to look at him from behind his shoulder. “Just spit on it and let’s go.”

“Oh, trust me, you’re gonna need it,” says Ian, reaching to wipe the excessive lube on Mickey’s hard cock, giving him a couple of strokes. 

“Shit… You’re gonna talk all day or fucking do something?” he hums when Ian pushes one of his cheeks out of the way with one hand and slides two fingers at once into him.

“That fucking ass,” Ian mutters as he watches Mickey’s opening take him. “I swear to god, if you let anyone fuck you…” 

He lets his angry-red dick slide under Mickey’s slick with lube balls. 

" _That_ got you going?” Mickey taunts him. “One hot dude fucking talks to me and you’re ready to go?”

“I’m not getting off on other dudes wanting to fuck you!” Ian exclaims, scissoring his fingers. “It pissed me off so much that I got hard!” 

“You’re so fucking weird, man,” says Mickey between pants.

“Fuck you!”

“No, fuck y- _aah,_ ” Mickey’s words dissolve into a groan as Ian corkscrews three lubed fingers into him, not waiting long before pumping them in and out of his hole. He smirks at a barely concealed _goddammit_ that his husband muffles into the mattress. He knows he can take it and he doesn’t go easy on him. 

“Come on, fuck me already,” Mickey whines, wiggling his hips.

“You think Daniel is hot?” Ian questions and lands a loud slap to his ass, making him jolt forward. The slap is more noise than force but it's effective in making Mickey moan.

“Isn’t he more of your type?” the smartass is still being annoying, even with three fingers up his asshole. 

Ian sighs and quickly pulls out. Ignoring Mickey’s hiss of discomfort, he grabs his arms and twists them both backwards, making Mickey land face first onto the mattress with a swear. Holding his forearms like reigns with one hand, Ian lines up his dick and pushes in unceremoniously. 

“Oh fuck, Gallagher,” Mickey groans when he doesn’t pause before pulling out almost completely and slamming back into him, lube squelching out messily around him with a wet sound. After a week of trying to get it up, being finally able to fuck his husband is the most satisfying feeling Ian’s experienced in a while, both mentally and physically.

Draping himself over Mickey’s back, Ian pushes into him with slow, hard thrusts, picking up the pace bit by bit until the mattress starts thumping against the wall. He puts his forearm against the back of Mickey’s neck, holding him down. Almost absentmindedly, he notes Mickey’s pleased mewl. 

“Yeah? You like it?” he pants, pressing Mickey’s folded arms into the small of his back, preventing him from sliding against the bed. 

He can barely hear Mickey chanting “ _yesyesyes"_ into the pillow with every sharp, heavy buck of his hips.

“Do you want him to fuck you?” Ian asks against his ear.

“No, you moron, _ah shit_ , you, only you,” despite Ian’s hold, Mickey still manages to fuck himself back against Ian's cock, clenching down everytime it hits him in the right place.

Ian grins and thrusts into Mickey with the same desperation, driven by the mounting pleasure shared between their bodies. He lets Mickey’s hands go and grabs at his hips, pulling him back into every thrust, watching the way his cock splits open the rim. 

Hands freed, Mickey reaches for his neglected cock, jerking it in rhythm with Ian’s thrusts. Tilting his hips, Ian makes sure to aim for the spot that makes Mickey’s thighs shake against his.

“Say my name when you come, Mick,” Ian pants, digging his fingers into Mickey’s hips. “Fucking say my name.”

“Don’t stop, don’t stop…” Mickey moans, his hand a blur on his dick. 

He doesn’t stop, and in a minute Mickey is spilling on the sheets beneath them, whispering a desperate “ _oh fuck, Gallagher, fuck_ ” into the pillow.

Pulling out, Ian turns Mickey on his back and slips back inside him, getting sucked into his well-fucked hole easily. Mickey is red-faced and fucked out, but he nods when Ian hoists his legs higher around his waist and goes for the last sprint. 

He is on the verge of coming when Mickey leans in to whisper into his ear between moans:

“Married you, dumbass… only want you… you’re the only one who fucks me, Ian… my fucking ass is yours…”

Mickey is all his, because Mickey _wants_ to be all his. Fuck. _Fuck_.

With this thought, Ian pushes in one last time and freezes, coming deep inside his husband.

Rolling off Mickey, he drops on the messy sheets near him and tries to catch his breath.

“Feel better?” Mickey asks with a smug smile when he turns to look at him.

“Do you?” Ian bites back.

“Yeah,” Mickey lets out a happy laugh. “Yeah, I fucking do. Fucking finally.”

Ian huffs a laugh as Mickey puts his head on his shoulder, starts playing with his chest hair. He kind of feels like howling with pride as Mickey lies in his arms like that, blissed out because of _him._ But there’s still one thing that is bothering him.

“Why didn’t you wanna fuck me?” he asks quietly. Mickey’s rejection still stings.

“Did you forget that your,” Mickey gestures between Ian’s legs pointedly. “Didn’t work?”

Did he fucking forget. How could he?

“I could still get you off some other way. But you didn’t want me to.”

“When did I ever say no to you getting me off?” Mickey smirks.

 _Last week, like ten times_ , Ian wants to say. He doesn’t.

When he keeps being quiet, Mickey raises his head to look him seriously in the eyes. “You felt like shit, Ian, I could see that. Plus, you couldn’t get off with me and that would be kind of an unfair deal, wouldn’t it?”

“Mick, we’ve been together for years, you should know by now that even if I can’t fuck you, I still want your dick in my mouth.”

“You were barely dragging your feet to take a piss, and you expect me to be okay with you getting on your knees for me? Fuck no,” says Mickey passionately. 

That sounds reasonable and even kind of nice, but still, Ian would prefer feeling like a zombie with a dick in his mouth than wondering if his husband hates him.

“Just talk to me next time, okay?” Ian pleads in a soft voice. “I started…. I started thinking shit.”

He yelps as Mickey slaps his forehead.

“Jealous dumbass,” he says, dodging Ian’s answering slap. “His dick is probably two times smaller than yours.” He thinks for a bit, then cups Ian’s cheek. “Got a prettier face than him too. Kinda like yours more.”

Ian smiles and kisses him until Mickey pulls away and lays back. 

“I liked it though,” he says dreamily. “Got all Hulk-like on me. Gotta find more ways to piss you off.”

 _Ought to get you pissed off more often._ Ian remembers what Mickey likes.

Mickey pisses him off all right, but nowadays the reasons are getting less and less devastating.

In his head Ian vows to give it to Mickey like that more often, without being mad at him. If his husband wants to be dicked down, he is getting it. No one knows when Ian’s stupid meds will break his dick again. 

They lie like that for some time, Mickey basking in his afterglow and Ian stroking his back. It feels so good to finally touch him like that again, Ian doesn’t want to stop. His hand slides to Mickey’s shoulders, then over the pretty dips above his ass. Then down and down, until his fingers reach the top of his ass crack. It’s still slick with lube and he knows that Mickey’s full of his come. It feels like Ian has claimed him and his dick likes this thought, stirring back to life.

Ian turns to look at Mickey.

“Wanna go again?” he asks, slipping his fingers lower.

“Kind of wanted to take a shower,” Mickey protests but Ian feels him arching into his touch.

Swiftly, he pushes Mickey on his back and rolls on top of him.

“One more time and then we go take a shower, okay?” he smiles, looking into his husband’s eyes.

“Not gonna say no to that,” Mickey waggles his eyebrows at him and leans in for a kiss.


End file.
